


The Rise and Fall

by Lise



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canonical Character Death, House Martell, Pre-Canon, Robert's Rebellion, Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:50:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lise/pseuds/Lise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arc of Elia's life  - from her marriage to her death. Warning for discussion of rape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rise and Fall

"How do you feel?"

Her smile was a little shaky. "All right."

"Brave sister." He kissed her hand. "You look terrified."

"I'll be fine. Would you brush my hair again?"

"Again? This must be the twelfth time." But he picked up the brush, running it again through her soft dark hair. "You should have seen Cersei's face. She's been stalking about like she swallowed a sour plum all morning."

Elia giggled reluctantly. "Oberyn," she chided, without any heart. "Please behave today."

He leaned over to tap her nose with a rakish grin. "When do I even not, sweet sister?" She groaned.

" _Oberyn._ I mean it." Her brother wrinkled his nose.

"I don't know. I do not care for the fact that the bridegroom may well be prettier than the bride…" He nudged her, teasingly, and Elia laughed.

"Please be kind to him. He's been so very gracious to me."

"Gracious. Ha! He should be, dragon or not, wedding the jewel of Dorne."

Elia blushed. "Flatterer," she accused. Oberyn just grinned and went back to brushing her hair, touch serving, as always, to soothe her jangling nerves.

"I suppose you've been briefed on all the necessities of your wedding night…"

" _Oberyn,_ " she scolded, and heard him chuckle.

"…but just yell if he doesn't behave, sweet sister." He lifted her hair and let it flow through his fingers back into place. "I'll come running."

"Prince Rhaegar would never hurt me."

"Sweet Elia, I don't think you could think anyone would hurt you. But I'm telling you, if he puts one toe out of line, let me know and I'll kill him." He smiled, but as always she half thought he was serious with that threat. She kept her tone light with a little bit of an effort.

"If anyone has taught me about all the vices men can have, and how to tolerate them, it would be you, brother mine."

"Such accusations," Oberyn said in a wounded tone. "From my own family."

"Elia?" Doran poked his head into her tent, and frowned a little on seeing his younger brother there. "Are you ready? I don't want to keep your new family waiting." Elia's throat closed up with nervousness. Oberyn squeezed her shoulder and answered for her.

"Let them wait. We'll be just a few minutes more." His voice was a challenge and their older brother tensed.

"Oberyn…keep a civil tongue in your head, please. Father worked hard for this marriage, and you know it. Not to mention I won't see you ruin our sister's wedding day with your impropriety." He paused. "A few minutes, then," and left. Elia breathed out. Her brother snorted and resumed brushing her hair.

"Your new family. Ha! I don't know how he can say that. You'll always be a Martell sun, Elia. You're no three-headed dragon." He kissed the top of her head. "And always my sister. Especially that. Turn, so I can see you."

She stood, and turned around, looking up at him apprehensively. Oberyn smiled, black eyes dancing. "Beautiful. You'll drop all their jaws." He kissed her forehead, then, as she flushed in embarrassment. "Hold your head high, my lady. Show them your pride. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken, am I right?"

Elia fumbled to find his hands and gave them a squeeze. "I'm nervous," she said, quietly. Oberyn pulled one hand free and pushed the hair back from her brow, straightened the veil.

"What about? You have nothing to fear." His eyes snapped. "And if it turns out that you do, I'll whisk you back home and damn the diplomatic consequences." He turned her toward the entrance and gave her a little push. "Now go. I'll be sure to sit in the front row. And yell the loudest, dirtiest remarks when it comes to the bedding, to make you laugh." He did laugh, then, at the expression on her face, and she sighed, rolled her eyes, and kissed his cheek, lightly.

"Oh, Oberyn. Take care, please. And try to behave?"

"Remember. One toe out of line and the dragon can have one less head."

" _Oberyn!"_ He grinned, looking unapologetic. "You – you-"

"Go," he said, and shoved her out the front of the tent. "The expression on your face now is positively fearsome."

And then he was gone, and she was on her own.

**

Elia was more relieved than she could possibly say that she caught up to Oberyn before he was fully armored.

"Let me go," he said, coldly, black eyes flashing furiously. "Elia, no matter what else, I will _not_ take this slight to you without comment. To be passed over for some northern woman like a common whore-"

More than anything, Elia wanted to hit him then. Or else let him go and challenge her husband, allow him avenge the slight on her honor. But she was rational enough to know what that would mean – a diplomatic incident at best, and at worst the fury of Rhaegar's father, and thus the Great Houses as well, directed at Dorne. And the destruction or at least devastation of her homeland for what was, really, a small hurt – she could not have that on her conscience.

"No, Oberyn. _No._ Let it go." She tried to make her voice firm, even if all she really wanted to do was howl and throw pillows and cry. What had she done to deserve this? She had been a dutiful wife in all ways, borne her husband two children, and yet – and yet –

But the matter at hand, first, and that was one younger brother who was quite ready to take on the prince of the Seven Kingdoms for her. Reckless idiot.

"I will _not,_ " he snapped, jerking his arm free and reaching for another piece of the light, red armor he wore. She snatched it out of his reach. "I won't kill him, if you don't wish it. But let me humiliate him, shame him as he has shamed you, and I will take you back home. I never should have let you-"

Elia felt herself flush. "Let me? You think you have that kind of control over me?"

"I could put you over the back of my horse and ride home _right now,_ " he hissed, and she couldn't help it, the emotions needing an outlet. She slapped him.

"You will do no such thing. To behave so would shame me and disgrace our family. Is that what you want, Oberyn?"

Her brother looked startled, that she had struck him or at her words, she could not have said. He spoke anyway, though, hotly. "You do not think we have already been shamed? Do you _realize-"_

"I realize, likely, more than you do," she said sharply. "I am still Queen, Oberyn. Do you think the prince can put me aside so easily? No. It is a simple trophy, that is all."

Oberyn flushed for the reminder of her place, above him by even greater a step than that of birth. "And my sister. I am defending you in that capacity, not as anyone's Queen. You will always be a Martell, first and foremost, and that is the way it _should_ be."

Elia kept her voice from quavering, and drew herself up. "And I tell you, Prince, that I need no defending. Will you defy my word again?"

He stared at her angrily for several moments, and then turned away violently. "Doran told me not to. I would kill him for you, you know that. Damn the consequences." He looked at her, lean and graceful and hot-headed as ever. She'd hoped that maybe the years would cool him, a little, but that appeared not to be the case. "Are you not angry, sweet sister, or unhappy at all? You have been _wronged._ "

Elia controlled her expression ruthlessly, knowing that her brother would seek any weakness in her mask and seize on it without letting go. And if she cried on him there would be no holding him back. " _I_ have been wronged," she said, making her voice regal, as she practiced, sometimes. "Not you. Pray remember that. I have already spoken to my husband, and," she hoped the lie didn't show, "He has reassured me that he is faithful to me. And yes," she added before her brother could interrupt, "I choose to believe him."

She could see the frustration in his eyes as he stared at her, and the skepticism, but she was lucky. Oberyn found no trace of a lie. "Will you at least let me _speak_ to him?" He snapped.

"I don't trust you not to lose your temper, brother." Elia swallowed, hard. This would be difficult. And unpleasant. "I think…I think it would be best, Oberyn, if you went home with Doran. Now."

He stilled, expression one of disbelief. "I am not needed there," he said, blankly. "And you told me I could-"

"I'm telling you differently now," Elia said, making her voice firm. "You are not needed here, either, and I do not think it would be prudent for you to remain. I ask you to return to Dorne."

"And leave you here, alone?"

"I have my retainers, have I not?" She made her voice sharp. "Go home, Oberyn. I cannot deal with you right now." There. That he could not ignore. Elia turned away, but caught the hurt and anger in his black eyes before it vanished as he bowed, coolly.

"As you wish, your grace. Is that all?"

She turned toward him, hesitant, wanting to tell him to be careful, to take her home, to reassure her that her husband was not bedding other women behind her back. She couldn't say any of it, though, and it would have to remain unsaid. For a variety of reasons.

"Yes," she said as she swept out regally, making her voice deliberate calm, cool; the armor of a princess. "That is all."

**

"What did you say?"

His younger brother's voice was deceptively calm. Doran knew better, and turned his head slightly to look at him more directly. It was plain to anyone who knew him, the sudden humming tension from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Let alone the way he'd jolted to his feet at the entrance of the emissary from King's Landing, eyes narrowed, mouth a thin line.

The emissary, on the other hand – a small man from a minor house, Doran noted with a touch of pique – glanced to him first before answering. "The King…wishes only to remind you that Princess Elia remains in the Red Keep, and will remain there until this rebellion is put down."

Oberyn stiffened. "You are saying that Aerys has declared our sister a hostage."

The emissary flinched. "His grace," he said, with the slightest emphasis on title, "Merely wishes you to know that the Princess remains safe and unharmed-"

"So long as we stay loyal. Yes, I heard. I've heard enough." Shoving past the unfortunate man, Oberyn strode for the door. Doran let him go, looking back at the emissary.

"My apologies for my brother's behavior," he said, quietly. "He is overwrought. Please, rest, take refreshment." Not waiting for a response, Doran stood and followed his brother down the hall and out.

As he had predicted, Oberyn was easy to find. He was in the stables, saddling his mare, and looked up sharply as Doran entered.

"You can't stop me," he said, curtly, "I am leaving, to do what I should have done on her wedding day. She needs to come home. First that incident at the tourney, and now this-"

"Then you condemn her to death."

Oberyn turned, eyes flashing violently. "You would dare accuse me-"

"It's not an accusation. You think King Aerys won't half be expecting this? That's why he sent the warning. The moment he has word that you are riding north, you will be cut down, and Elia will be killed. And when the rebellion is crushed, he will descend on Dorne, and do you expect mercy from a madman?"

Oberyn seemed about to snarl in fury. "I don't care. I will ride fast enough to reach her before he hears, and I don't care how many men I cut down on the way out."

"I would sooner not lose a sister and a brother in one stroke."

His younger brother slammed a fist into the wall of the stable, furiously. His mare whickered nervously. "Doran, damn your bloody reason, what if the city is taken?"

"King's Landing will not be taken," Doran said, with confidence he didn't feel, "And if it is, the conquerors have no reason to kill Elia and risk our displeasure. They will need a unified Seven Kingdoms, and Dorne is part of that. And if the city is not taken, then we have not taken sides and can be seen as faithful to the King. Do you understand me?"

Oberyn jerked his head. "No. I do not. I do not understand how you can conscience leaving your own sister a hostage."

Doran took a deep breath. "If you continue to present a threat to her safety, I will have you locked away, Oberyn, and I mean that. You are going nowhere, and from this moment on the stables are closed to you."

Oberyn drew himself up, eyes blazing. "Doran-"

"Don't think I don't care," Doran said, a little more sharply, "Don't think this doesn't anger me. I want Elia hurt no more than you do. And I will protect her. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

**

Oberyn wasn't entirely sure what he did when he first heard the news. Wasn't quite sure what happened when he first heard the words. But he was relatively sure that his heart had stopped beating and his insides had turned to ice.

He'd heard of cold anger before, usually when referring to the Starks, but never felt it. His anger always burned hot and fast and deadly and was gone swiftly. This, he did not sense going away.

Their uncle had been killed at the Trident. Rhaegar had fallen to the Usurper. The gates had been opened at King's Landing to Tywin Lannister's army, the old king was dead, and Elia… gods. Elia.

Her children murdered, likely before her eyes, before the monster that was Gregor Clegane raped and murdered her as well. The thought made him sick. The thought made him _angry._

His pen scrawled across paper, writing a hurried missive, but not in reply to the one he had received announcing the sack and its casualties. This was for a different destination. A destination that would bring Elia what she deserved.

Vengeance. Fire and blood.

The door opened. He didn't look back.

"Doran."

"Oberyn. I know you must have-"

"Yes, and yes, I am planning something." He didn't look up, but continued writing. "You would not approve. Which is why I'm signing in my name."

"We cannot enter another war."

"No? Not even to avenge our sister's death?" Oberyn stood up, suddenly, folding the paper in half and stalking to where a pigeon sat docilely in a cage. His brother cut him off and Oberyn stared at him mutinously. "Not even to avenge her rape, the murder of her children?"

"We _cannot_ enter another war. Not against the united front of Robert's friends. We don't have the resources or the strength." Oberyn heard himself hiss, like his namesake, the anger heating slowly.

"And so you would just let it _go_?"

"No. I would wait."

"And make it seem as though we care nothing for our own sister. You would have us grovel before this murderer king, who called her children 'dragonspawn'!" He laughed, sharply. "You may be able to stand for that, Doran, but I cannot. And do not ask me to."

"I am not asking you to." His brother's voice was infuriatingly calm. "I am telling you what you will do. As your elder brother."

"You will have me stay here and bow to this mockery of a king," Oberyn snapped, whirling on Doran, letter clenched in one fist.

"I will not ask that of you. Go elsewhere for a time. Across the sea, perhaps. Allow this to cool. And then you will stay here."

Oberyn wrestled with that. He knew his elder brother was right, knew a fight was fruitless. That didn't make him any happier about it. "One dragon still lives."

"Two," Doran corrected, "And still young. No, Oberyn. You will do as I say." He plucked the letter from Oberyn's fist, brought it to the fire, and set it to the flames. "But I suggest you leave soon. The messages demanding allegiance will arrive shortly, and I do not…think it would be wise for you to linger when they come."

"And you will submit to him," Oberyn said, coldly, feeling his fury freezing cold again. "You are the coward they name you, Doran. I will go, yes. Only because if I think of bending any knee to that man or his servants, I want to spit venom. And as yet, I have none to give them." He turned for the door, glanced back at the letter curling and blackening in the fire. "And I will return when I do. And then, my brother, you shall not hold me back."


End file.
